Cherringham--Final Cut

by Neil Richards

  “So do you think it’s going to be a good film?”

  “Like I said — I’m just the prop man,” said Gary. “What’s the big deal anyway?”

  “I’m driving the girl around,” said Jack. “Maybe … be good to know how people are feeling. Helps me deal with her.”

  “Well — if I were you, I wouldn’t take a punt on your job lasting long, mate.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “This little ship’s heading straight for DVD. If they actually finish it …”

  “Really?”

  “Editor walked last week. Said he couldn’t cut it. Literally. Coverage non-existent.”

  “Coverage?”

  “All the shots you need to put a scene together, the different angles, same scene … all that stuff …”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Fatal. If you ask me — the director’s lost it. Doesn’t know what he’s doing any more. Shoots everything every which way and ten times over, but not the shots he needs.”

  “Gotta feel sorry for the actors, huh?”

  “Too right. It’s a total nightmare for them. Each day we get new script pages.”

  Gary leaned close to Jack after a look around.

  “Word is that the producer himself is doing the rewrites in the night.”

  “Dracula?”

  Gary laughed. “Ha, know him? That’s the fella. You’ve kept your ears open, eh?”

  “Knowledge is power, Gary.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Jack stepped down off the truck and turned to Gary.

  “I’m going to get a coffee. Can I get you one?”

  “Cheers — I’ll have—”

  A voice boomed behind Jack: “Tea break over, Gary; you’re wanted on set — now!”

  Jack watched Gary shrug and leap into action.

  “Duty calls at last …”

  And Jack turned to see the owner of the voice — a big, burly guy, built like a football player — staring hard at him.

  Jack smiled.

  The guy stepped forward and prodded Jack in the chest with a finger.

  “And you,” said the man, his breath in Jack’s face. “Brennan, isn’t it?”

  Jack nodded.

  “You’re lucky I haven’t kicked your arse all the way back to your minicab company in Cherringham — or whatever it is you do for a day job.”

  Jack put his hand on the finger, gripped it, and gently pushed back.

  “Let me guess,” he said, smiling, in spite of the anger. “Fraser Haines? First Assistant Director? Pleasure to meet you at last.”

  “You cost me and the production two hours this morning,” said Haines. “Two hours — with no actress for a key scene.”

  “I didn’t get an email, Zoë didn’t …” said Jack. “Guess your office didn’t have my address? Or … another slip up?”

  For a moment the AD didn’t react.

  Then: “Oh we did. Guess you just didn’t check your damn email.”

  Jack watched as Haines took out his mobile, swiped it and held it up for Jack to see.

  “Your email address?”

  Jack nodded. The address was right. So why hadn’t he picked up the email?

  “Everybody got the email, Brennan. Except you — and Miss Harding.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Jack.

  “I don’t know what tricks you pulled to get this job, Brennan. But you make one more costly mistake and you’re off the set. You got that message at least?”

  “Loud and clear,” said Jack, smiling.

  Jack watched the 1st AD as he considered this.

  “Hmm. Now make yourself useful — pick up those pancakes — and follow me.”

  Jack watched Haines turn and head back through the main door of the castle.

  Jack looked where Haines pointed, to a stack of flat wooden boxes — which he guessed were pancakes in film jargon — and followed after the First Assistant Director.

  He might just be a chauffeur — but now he was heading into the inner sanctum.

  The chance at last to meet the players he needed to meet — not so much the ones in the movie — but the ones in Zoë’s own drama …

  *

  “And … cut!”

  Jack watched the director, Alphonso de Laurens, go into a huddle with Fraser and the lighting cameraman.

  There seemed to be some kind of problem: Alphonso was shaking his head and the whole crew seemed tense.

  Jack had put the pancakes down in a corner of the oak-panelled room where Haines had indicated, and had then slipped into a corner, out of the way, so he could see the action.

  It was clearly a key scene.

  Zoë — as Lady Ann — had surprised Cromwell in his antechamber — and the two were about to kiss for the first time. There was a lot of dialogue — and a level of intensity required from both actors that Jack could feel all the way back in in the shadows.

  Zoë Harding might be young — and new to movies — but she was breath-taking.

  And, in a sweeping red velvet dress, utterly convincing. Karl — her co-star — seemed to dominate the room without doing anything.

  No doubt about it — there was amazing chemistry between these two young players. But to succeed, Jack knew a movie needed much more than just chemistry.

  He’d watched nearly a dozen takes already, Zoë and Karl throwing themselves into the roles — and each time Alphonso shouted ‘cut’ and took the actors impatiently aside to change a line, or a delivery.

  The scene itself wasn’t going well — for some reason that Jack couldn’t identify at all.

  And now the director started shouting at the crew in a heavy accent about the lighting.

  Jack looked over at Zoë. She caught his eye and winked.

  What a trooper, he thought.

  As he watched, she hurried over to a corner of the room and two women worked quickly on her hair and teased a shoulder pad back into place. He saw her lean down for her flask, take a mouthful of tea, then place it on the floor out of the way.

  “First positions everybody, please, we’re going for another take,” called Fraser, voice booming, and Jack saw the whole room tense up again.

  How many more takes would they need?

  “And … action!”

  Jack watched Zoë instantly become Lady Ann again. She swept across the room and Cromwell turned in surprise to see her.

  “My Lord –”

  “This is no place for you –”

  “You mean you have no place in your heart –”

  “Lady Ann, I beg you, do not put words –”

  But suddenly, Jack knew something was wrong. He’d seen Zoë’s rock solid performance so often he knew every move she made …

  But now, she was backing away, her face confused —

  Karl too looked surprised — the rhythm of the scene collapsing —

  Jack stood up, alarmed — as Zoë clutched at her stomach, her face suddenly white — and while everyone else seemed frozen, Jack was already moving towards her, pushing crew to one side –

  “I don’t feel –” she said, trying to stand upright …

  And then she was falling backwards towards him, already unconscious, just as Jack reached her — and he too fell backwards, but taking her weight, his arms protecting her, his shoulder hitting the wooden floor hard, her head cradled onto his chest.

  As the room finally woke up to what was happening and everyone rushed to help at once …

  “Get an ambulance,” shouted Jack, “Now!”

  He lay Zoë flat on the ground and checked for a pulse.

  He could barely feel it …

  “Quickly, move — for God’s sake!”

  And as he heard people dialling on their mobile phones, and while everyone seemed to move in slow motion around him, Jack got ready to give Zoë Harding CPR …

  7. A Narrow Escape …

  Sarah walked beside Jack, following the nurse into Zoë’s hospital room.

  A
few feet from the bed, the nurse turned and said: “She’s been sleeping off and on since this morning. Getting her strength back.”

  Sarah nodded.

  The beautiful actress looked so fragile — a fantasy princess in a deep sleep in the shadowy room, blinds drawn, the monitor above the bed showing all her vital signs.

  “Thank you,” Sarah said. “We won’t wake her. Just wanted to—”

  But — as if on cue — Zoë opened her eyes, and turned to the voices, then a small smile on that beautiful face.

  “Sarah, Jack … sorry must have … dozed off again.”

  The nurse turned back to the patient. “Everything’s looking fine, dear. You’re doing well, and now — “a nod to Sarah — “I’ll leave you to catch up with your friends …”

  And the nurse left the room.

  Sarah came closer to the bed. Jack was by her side, but staying a bit back; she guessed that he had visited a lot of hospital rooms in his years on the force …

  And that thought reminded Sarah that they didn’t know what happened here.

  Just a fainting spell, some kind of an attack?

  Another … accident?

  “So, you’re feeling better?” Sarah said brightly.

  The actress produced a small laugh. “Why, yes. I don’t know what happened — but to be honest, I feel ready to get back to work. Don’t need the crew getting any more mad at me.”

  Jack came closer, nodded. “Don’t think you should worry about them right about now, Zoë,” he said. “Important thing, find out what happened, get better.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m just feeling a bit silly. Something a teenager would do. Maybe it was not having that breakfast? Doing that big scene on an empty stomach …”

  Sarah looked at Jack. Outside in the waiting room, they had discussed what might have happened. But with no information, for now it remained a mystery.

  Though neither of them used the word ‘accident’.

  “And you’ve seen a doctor?” Sarah said.

  “Yes. Soon as they wheeled me in here. Then again, a while ago. But — well, I haven’t been told anything. How is Alphonso dealing with this? He must be frantic — and so mad!”

  Having seen the sputtering director in action — all that crazed intensity — Sarah could well imagine that he was none too happy scrambling around to shoot other scenes with his leading lady in hospital.

  “Don’t know,” Sarah said. “We came straight here.”

  The actress nodded. Then she reached out for Sarah’s hand.

  “Thank you for that. Was feeling kind of alone on the set. Having the two of you — like guardian angels,” she said smiling, “makes a ton of difference.”

  “Glad to be there for you, Zoë. We were wondering … has anything like this happened to you before …?”

  Zoë looked away.

  Finding out what had happened would depend on the girl’s complete honesty and trust of them.

  She shook her head.

  Then, she said quietly … “Once …”

  *

  Jack had pulled a pair of chairs close to the bed, and he and Sarah sat down.

  “When I spent a summer performing with RADA. And I just felt, well, that I should trim down. You know, actresses, needing to be so thin and all that.”

  Sarah nodded. Not a fear that was unknown to her. She knew the pressures young women were under, had felt them herself … and she now looked at Chloe hoping that she was strong enough — and supported enough –that any unhealthy habits could be avoided.

  “So — I cut my food intake to bits, lot of yogurt, fruit. Not much protein, I’m afraid. Then once, while rehearsing some wickedly athletic scenes from The Taming of the Shrew, I spun around …”

  A grin, and Sarah could almost see it as Zoë described it.

  “And when I stopped the room kept spinning around. In minutes, I fell flat on my face.”

  “Oh, dear,” Sarah said. Then smiling back … “Does fit that play though.”

  Zoë laughed. “Yes. No one made a big deal of it. But one of the directors, a woman with white hair who’d make the perfect grandmother if she wasn’t also the fiercest director ever, came up to me. And she said one word …”

  Jack looked at Sarah. They waited …

  “And that word was: eat.”

  A pause.

  She knew how to deliver a line …

  “So I did.”

  And they all laughed.

  “Put in a lot of hours at Pizza Express,” the actress said, still laughing.

  And when the laughter subsided …

  “And today, that felt the same?”

  Zoë hesitated.

  And then: “No. To be honest, not at all, save for the collapsing part. That was the same.”

  “So what did today feel like?”

  “Well, I was off to the side while they reset the scene, the lights … and then when Alphonso called ‘action’, I walked onto the lit set. And then—”

  The actress looked away.

  “First, it felt like a tightening in my stomach. All of a sudden — wham! Then the room went blurry … I could feel my heart racing. Barely felt myself collapsing to the floor. And next thing I know — I’m here.”

  “And that,” Jack said, “had never happened before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Nothing like that.”

  Sarah looked at Jack, wondering what he was making of all this. Whenever he started to think over things — events, what people did, what they say they did — she could see his eyes glaze over, as if he was lost in an internal maze, looking for all the exits.

  Then, emerging from that wandering, he had another question: “And just before you went onto the set, did—”

  But with that question, the hospital room door opened, and a young woman walked in, white coat, stethoscope, long black hair.

  The doctor was not much older than Zoë herself.

  She nodded to Jack and Sarah.

  “Dr. Manjeep,” she said, smiling, extending a hand. “I wonder if I could have a few minutes alone with Zoë … then — perhaps — we can all talk?”

  Sarah thought … the doctor knows something.

  “Of course,” Jack said, and he walked out, and Sarah followed, as the doctor shut the door behind them.

  8. The Doctor’s Report

  Sarah watched Jack walk past a line of vending machines slowly, as if deliberating the purchase of a new luxury car.

  He may look like he’s deciding which crisps to buy, Sarah thought.

  But knowing Jack like she did, she knew this was more of his thinking about what’s going on.

  Patience, she cautioned herself.

  When he’s ready, he’ll come back to talk.

  Finally, like a disappointed customer, Jack turned away from the snack machines and walked back to the plastic sculpted chairs, bolted to the floor, that made up this unwelcoming waiting room of the Cotswolds Hospital.

  “I’d be willing to pay more than, um, a penny for your thoughts, Jack …”

  He smiled. “You mean, pence? Don’t see too many of those coins around.”

  He sat down beside her leaning forward, hands folded on his knees.

  “I could say let’s wait until we hear from the doctor. But I can tell you what my gut is telling me … right now …”

  “Exactly what I want to hear …”

  “That Zoë — told us the truth. She doesn’t know what could have done that. And a reaction like that, needing CPR? Lucky girl to be alive.”

  “Something congenital, you think? Something she didn’t know about?”

  “Sure, guess that it could be that. But I doubt it. No symptoms her whole life, and out of the blue? Something — as we say — fishy here. I want to ask her some more questions when we get back in.”

  Jack’s words had a chilling effect. Sarah still held onto the idea that something had happened to Zoë that could easily be explained.

  In minutes, they�
�d learn what it was.

  But with Jack feeling quite the opposite, Sarah knew to trust his instincts.

  “I do hope –for Zoë’s sake — that you are not right,” she said to her friend.

  Jack looked up from his gaze locked on the linoleum floor. “So do I Sarah. So do I.”

  And then the door to Zoë’s room opened; Dr. Manjeep walked out, no smile, a nod.

  Then:

  “Perhaps you can come in?”

  Jack got up and Sarah followed as the doctor led the way back into Zoë’s room, again pulling the door closed behind her.

  *

  Once in, Sarah could see that Zoë’s face was visibly ashen, eyes wide. Whatever she had learned in here … was serious.

  The doctor walked over to the windows, and turned so she could address all three of them.

  “I asked Zoë … if it was okay if I shared the results of our tests.”

  Sarah saw Zoë look to the doctor then over to Jack and Sarah — her new friends … her new guardians.

  “She says I can share everything with you …”

  Something here, Sarah could tell.

  “We ran a full spectrum blood test, urine analysis, checked all of Zoë’s vitals.” The doctor paused. “We also — to be safe, and due to the intestinal contractions — performed a gastric suction.”

  Sarah looked at Jack. He turned to her, again the veteran of many a hospital room conversation …

  “Stomach pumping,” he said. Then to the doctor: “You felt that beyond the blood and other tests …?”

  “Yes. It had to be done immediately. If there was a present danger to Zoë from something ingested.”

  Sarah had her eyes on the actress. The words now … as shocking to Zoë as to Jack and her.

  “It can reveal things well in advance of the tests.”

  Jack walked closer to the bed. He looked down at Zoë as if trying to reassure her during his next question.

  Then back up to the doctor …

  “And I’m assuming that in this case, it did.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “Yes. I told Zoë. Asked her about her history. But the gastric suction showed toxic levels of Toradol, later confirmed by the blood work. The scientific name is ‘Ketorolac Tromethamine’.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “That’s an opiod, right? Powerful pain killer?”